Somewhere I'll Find You (Capital Theatre #1)(57)

“There is a baby,” she said, each word snapped out like a whiplash. “You'll eat your words, Damon. You'll regret that you treated me this way.”

“Perhaps.” He took her by the arm in a painful grip and began to usher her upstairs. “In the meanwhile you're going to dress yourself and get the hell out of my house.”

Chapter 8

“Tell the butler that I wish to see Mr. Scott,” Julia said to the footman, stepping down from the carriage. “Tell him I regret that the hour is late, but this is an urgent matter.”

“Yes, Mrs. Wentworth.” The footman strode rapidly to the front door and alerted the butler inside to their arrival.

Julia followed slowly, her courage evaporating with each step she took toward Logan Scott's luxurious house in the quiet court suburb of St. James Square. The house was three bays wide and fronted with massive fluted columns that seemed designed to intimidate curious visitors such as herself. She had never been here before—Logan had all but forbidden the actors and crew of the Capital to set foot on the property.

As far as Julia knew, Logan rarely entertained at home. The few who had been privileged to visit hadn't breathed a word about the house or its occupant, respecting his wishes for privacy. It was his exclusive domain, this small estate, and it seemed to be covered by an invisible shroud of mystery. But she wanted to see him, and it didn't seem possible to wait until morning.

Logan was the closest thing to a mentor she had, and the problem she faced was too overwhelming to deal with on her own. There was no one else she could trust for sound advice. She wondered if Logan would eject her from the house at once, if he would be surprised at her unexpected appearance, or angry, or both. It was possible he would be amused by her dilemma, and mock her. She winced at the thought but forced herself to continue walking.

The tall footman who had preceded her was talking to the butler, who disappeared and returned shortly. The butler's training was evident in the complete lack of expression on his face, even when confronted with the sight of a shivering young woman in a charred stage costume. “Mr. Scott will see you, Mrs. Wentworth,” he murmured.

After dismissing the footman, Julia followed the butler inside. She hoped that she hadn't awakened Logan after he had already retired for the evening. Surely not—she couldn't imagine him sleeping after everything that had happened that night. Her thoughts were distracted as she wandered through the house, hardly able to believe she was finally getting a glimpse of Logan Scott's private world.

The decor of the rooms was Italianate, with pieces of intricately carved furniture, painted frescoes on the ceilings, and pale marble busts. An air of lushness pervaded the place, everything polished and velvety and quietly understated. The upholstery and window hangings were all in rich shades of blue, gold, and plum.

They came to an intimate parlor where the furniture was piled with silk and velvet pillows, and small inlaid tables were laden with novels and books of engravings. Logan Scott rose from a chaise longue as Julia crossed the threshold. “Mrs. Wentworth,” he said, his voice slightly hoarse. “How are you? No injuries from the fire, I hope?.”

“I'm very well,” Julia assured him. Her gaze traveled to the other occupant of the parlor, one of the most exotically beautiful women she had ever seen. She had creamy golden skin, straight black hair, and striking pale green eyes. The heavy silk robe she wore was belted tightly at a slim waist, revealing the shape of a lithe, long figure. Julia was fascinated by her. So this was the mysterious woman who was living with Logan. Was she more than a mistress to him, or merely a convenience?

The woman smiled at Julia and came to stand by Logan's side. “I will leave the two of you to talk,” she said tactfully, and smoothed her hand over Logan's hair in a proprietary sweep before taking her leave.

Logan stared at Julia speculatively. His eyes were reddened from exposure to smoke, making the blue irises seem more unnervingly bright than ever. “Have a seat,” he said, indicating a cushioned chair nearby. “Would you like a drink?”

“Yes, anything,” Julia said gratefully, settling into the comfortable chair. He brought her a glass of pale amber liquid, which she identified as watered-down whiskey, smooth and slightly sweet. After pouring himself a glass of straight spirits, Logan sat nearby and stretched out his legs. Like her, he hadn't yet changed from his costume. It was in poor condition, stained with sweat and smoke, the shirt ripped in places, the trousers torn at the knee.

“How is the theater?” Julia asked hesitantly, sipping her whiskey. It wasn't a drink she particularly enjoyed, but she welcomed its bracing effect.

His face was shadowed with a frown. “It wasn't destroyed, but there are many expensive repairs to make. We'll have to cut half the number of shows I planned for the season, and take the rest on tour in the provinces. In the meanwhile, I'll travel back and forth to oversee the work being done on the Capital.”

“Oh.” Julia hated touring, the late hours, the poor food and dirty rooms. In the past they had taken a few shows on limited tours to places such as Bristol, Leicester, and Chester. It was tiring to deal with the crowds that usually waited outside her lodgings, and to bear the close scrutiny she received no matter where she went.

In spite of .his obvious weariness, Logan smiled at her lack of enthusiasm. “No complaints,” he murmured. “I'm not fit for sparring tonight.”